and i have a question
by coffee-stained lips
Summary: What is love? / Drabble collection, to the music of Never Shout Never.
1. love is our weapon

**So, this is my contribution to the "Make an album into a story" challenge over on HPFC. My album is Never Shout Never's (or, Nevershoutnever!, Christofer Drew, Christopher Drew Ingle, whatever your preference is) _What Is Love?_, and his EP _Me & My Uke_, as his album didn't have enough tracks. I'm not too confident on this first drabble/oneshot, so if you could review to tell me it was good or to advise me on what wasn't good & could be fixed, I'd love you forever. :]**

**hey, everybody, take a look around**  
>scorpiusrose<p>

put your money where your mouth is,  
>take your eyes off the ground.<br>we got a hard day coming if we can't work out  
>all the pissy little problems that we're fighting about.<br>~"Love Is Our Weapon," Never Shout Never

She spots him from across the train station for the first time, and she fleetingly thinks he's quite a pretty boy, all moon-white skin and silvery-blonde hair akin to Victoire's. He stands tall, but not at all lanky, even for an eleven-year-old boy. His chin is pointed but softened by perfect cheekbones, and Rose thinks she may never find such a beautiful-looking boy again.

But when she hears her father, she builds a mental brick wall to keep out those thoughts because _that's_ the Malfoy her folks always gripe about, and she can't think he's handsome because she has to hate him. And she can see he must think the same, the way he mirrors her actions as she looks from her dad to his, catching the obvious glares of disgust being shared. Their mums just kind of run their eyes over each other's bodies, perhaps surveying, sizing up. But either way, there's hatred in the air that's thicker than the smoke billowing from the train, and she can't risk trying to slice through it.

So she's content with tossing future drama aside and hating him from the start, but as then he and Al get Sorted into the same House (_Slytherin, blech_) and he keeps staring at her as the line moves, with gray-blue eyes that go over her every detail, and, Merlin, she's not a prude, but that's _disgusting_.

She's Sorted, thankfully, into Gryffindor, but they're all hesitant to celebrate because Al's over with the Slytherins in his new silver-and-green robes, sitting nearby Scorpius Malfoy (who _still_ refuses to stop undressing her with his eyes). She hates them, hates them all, because she knows she should, especially that blonde-haired git.

They all get into the routine of school rather quickly, Rose before anyone else, and she soon becomes the smartest witch of her year, proudly so. She's considerably well-liked (being the daughter of _Ron Weasley_ and _Hermione Granger_, which is almost as good as _Harry Potter_) and the teachers all enjoy her, and even though she doesn't attract many friends other than her cousins that's okay because the headmistress is mulling over whether to bump her up a year in school for her intelligence and all the Ravenclaws are jealous because even _they_ can't beat Rose Weasley in a game of smarts.

But there's this _boy_ – guess who? – with silvery eyes and silvery hair who stares at her in Potions class and in the Great Hall, and everyone's nudging her and winking like she _wants_ this, when all she really wants is to read her books and ace her O.W.L.s (and _possibly_ get a boyfriend [who's in any House _but_ Slytherin]).

"Come on, Rose," Albus begs her in the library, for the sixty-eighth time (oh, yes, she counts). "Scorp isn't half-bad, once you get to know him. Sure, his folks are a tad – well, not nice, but he really likes you and I think you ought to – "

"_Al_," she says firmly, stopping him with one blue-eyed glare and narrowed red eyebrows, and he immediately shuts up because that's what you do when Rose Weasley gets angry. "No. I'm not interested in a prat like Scorpius Malfoy. Now, for the sixty-eighth time, tell him he can bug off." And she collects her books and departs, leaving her cousin to thump his head against the desk.

_Merlin_, but that Malfoy is _persistent_ because he bumps into her a lot and asks to borrow ingredients he obviously has on his plate in Potions, and she wonders if she can report him for sexual harassment when he overlooks her and tells her how pretty she looks today (even if she does kind of look forward to it, because she never can tame those red curls on her head).

Eventually she confronts him on it, when she catches him spying on her from behind the bookshelves, but his fingers are tracing her jawline _ohso_inappropriately and he still _is_ a little too handsome for his own good, and she apologizes to her parents in her head as he kisses her hotly.

It lasts longer than that first time in the library, and soon enough her name can't be without his and everything is Rose&Scorpius, but she never tells her parents (especially her dad) because snakes don't dance with lions, and she's a Weasley and he's a Malfoy so it wouldn't have worked no matter the House.

And she tells him so in the shadows of the Astronomy Tower, the starlight kissing her skin and lightening his hair. He just smiles at her and holds her closer, resting his lips on the crook of her neck _ohso_comfortably.

"We're not our parents, Rose," he tells her, and she digs her nails deeper into his shoulders. "We can be together now."

And she thinks, quite possibly, maybe they can.


	2. jane doe

**jane doe**  
>rolfluna<p>

i don't even know you,  
>but i know for sure<br>that you are beautiful,  
>so baby, let me know your name.<br>~"Jane Doe," Never Shout Never

He's a slave to routine.

Ever since he was a child, with the summers so thought-out for him to tend to the many animals on his grandparents' property and the school days going in the same motions of which classes with which teachers and which kids. And now he continues along that same pathway, each day the same, each minute planned and on schedule.

For instance, he always wakes up at eight precisely, feeds his many pets (animal lover a trait picked up from his grandfather) and himself, then dresses and heads off into town to work on the same dirt path through the park outside his apartment complex. And every day he does this, the exact same routine, and he is quite happy doing so, thank you very much.

But then one day he's disrupted by someone – a girl, to specify, and an honestly pretty one – in his path, kneeling on the ground with her nose in the grass.

It's a peculiar sight indeed, and for awhile he just stands there, watching her look around in the dirt, parting the grass with her fingers. But then he notices that time has slipped, and he should be halfway down the path by now so he brushes past her, careful not to look back or else he may be tempted to stop.

And so he makes it to work, and when he walks back there's no girl on her stomach in the grass and he gratefully heads to his apartment for an evening of reading and Muggle TV before bed. But the next day, when he walks down the path, she's there again, same spot, bent over in the grass.

And he tries to avoid her again, because he shouldn't be stopping for _anything_, but, you know, it's difficult not to be curious. So with a sigh he drops his briefcase and approaches her, hands curled into aggravated fists and mouth twisted crookedly.

"Uh, miss?" he says, and she looks up at him, and he's shell-shocked to be perfectly honest because he's never met someone with such big and innocent gray eyes who was human.

"Yes?" she asks, and her voice is soft and melodious, and Rolf finds himself overcome by her in a single instant.

"I'm…I'm trying to walk on this path, here." he says. She smiles – he melts.

"Oh, don't worry, you're not bothering me at all!" she assures him, and that's such a naïve answer to give him but he finds himself relieved.

"Yes, well, um" – he clears his throat, loudly, nervously – "good. Good. Good." He continues to stammer like some impish schoolboy in the presence of a lovely girl – which isn't too far from the truth –

But he can't let himself stand here a moment longer because that's not a part of his routine – his routine is not meeting strange girls in the park on his way to work, not talking to them, it's working and eating and sleeping and repeat.

Somehow though, curiosity betrays him and he questions her antics – she smiles and tells him what, and he's been involved with animals his whole life and never once has he heard of a Nargle, so he uses that as an excuse to stay with her – if he's going to work around animals he may as well learn about this one, but instead they end up talking with each other on the nearest park bench about anything and everything and nothing, but it's simply being with this odd girl that really makes him, well, _happy_.

And it's almost frightening because he is a man of routine, and with her no day is like the one before which is not something he deals well with – he needs structure, to know what will happen and when it will, to have a sense that something will always be there at the same time.

It's not like him, but he lets himself enjoy this bizarre ritual of having no ritual, other than meeting with her and exploring with her and just _her_, in all her blonde-haired, gray-eyed, oddball glory. He doesn't even learn her name until the day he proposes, but she's too special to let go, this lovely little Jane Doe who's shaken him from his roots and taught him what it means to be _free_.

**a/n: yeah...i hate it too :p**


	3. can't stand it

**baby, i love you**  
>lorcanlucy<p>

i never want to let you go.  
>the more i think about, the more i want to let you know,<br>that everything you do is super-duper cute  
>and i can't stand it.<br>~"Can't Stand It," Never Shout Never

He's not sure what makes him love her.

Because the thing about Lucy is she's not her sister, polite and quiet - and she's not her cousin, Vic, snobby and ladylike - she's more like his brother, crass and loud, and that's not a comparison he enjoys making.

But it's true. She may have gorgeous chestnut eyes and lovely hair that's been every color of the rainbow at one time or another and a button nose and a honeyed laugh - but she cracks her knuckles and can belch her ABCs and puts the fear of God in James when he beats her at Quidditch. She's a girl of great beauty, but rub her the wrong way and that cute little smile can turn and bite you if you're not careful.

And he's sweet little Lorcan, three and a half minutes younger than his worldy brother, who dreams of traveling to distant lands and riding on the backs of Snorckacks and who believes in all those things like love and happiness that Lucy just laughs at.

So, who would think they'd make such a lovely pair, the devious Hufflepuff and the dreamy Ravenclaw?

Everyone, that's who.


	4. sacrilegious

**a/n: First ever FredAngelina. Thoughts?**

**sunday mornin', wake up early,**  
>fredangelina<p>

skip curch service to find true meaning.  
>i know, it sounds so disappointing,<br>but i just don't belong in a place like that.  
>~"Sacrilegious," Never Shout Never<p>

She's five, her curly hair in braids and a pink sundress on, stretching for the sanctuary in her mother and father's hands as they Apparate to the little white church on the top of a hill. She smiles as she sees the colorful flowers down below, and longs for the time after the service when she can fall face-first into the sea of whites, purples, yellows, can play and gallop and be free. She finds her grip slipping from her parents' in the anticipation, hoping _maybe this once_ she can go _instead_ the service and –

"Angie." her mummy says, and Angelina sadly averts her eyes, letting a puff of disappointed air escape her lips as she's lead inside the church.

"Just an hour, boo," her daddy assures her, gathering her up into his arms and fondly kissing the top of her head, "and you're home free."

"It's too _long_…" she whines, but they just laugh and go to their reserved pews, beside a large family of redheaded people, with more children than she can count on one hand. She notes two boys in particular, one hanging off the back of the pew with his rear end arched into the air, the other down underneath the pew, scrunched up like an accordion.

"'Ello, love," the second one says as he puts his head between her knees, smiling goofily like some drugged-up idiot. "Fred Weasley as your service." Angelina finds herself smiling at the young boy, with his hair splayed out on the marble floor like a candle and his eyebrows scrunched in such a playful way above those deep brown eyes.

"'Ello," she replies, "I'm Angelina Johnson." He grins wider at the name, and she looks into his mouth of gaps and bright teeth.

"Pleasure." he says, crawling out from beneath the pew at his mother's insistence as she tugs the other boy – the spitting image of Fred – down to sit by his belt buckle. As Fred clambers up to sit before she can grab him by the collar, he rolls his eyes at Angelina, settling in beside her.

"Mums." he sighs, and she giggles as the sermon starts.

After she's the third out of the church – Fred and his brother taking first place as a tie – and she follows the two of them as they shove each other down the hill, screeching like banshees as they all three plummet to the bottom, their pretty church clothes turning green by the second. They laugh as they reach the bottom, wrestling each other, ending up in an odd entanglement that has them looking like a horrid twelve-limbed creature.

Unfortunately their mother beckons them too soon, and they groan as they trudge back up, Angelina not far behind. As they all reach the top, Fred presses a kiss to her cheek, winking at her and smiling that drug-addict smile of his.

"Another day, then." he says, before he's off with his ginger-haired pack.

And she likes to believe they will, another day. Whatever that will entail.

.

She's twenty-seven, her curly hair tied in a bun and a flowing white dress on that billows in the back, grasping her father's arm as though letting go would send her flying backwards into oblivion. The flower petals fan out as she steps on them, and it almost kills her (anything can nowadays).

The pews are filled with people on each side, crying, smiling, both. She catches Mrs. Weasley looking at her, but the old woman averts her eyes when she meets them. Angelina doesn't blame her – she blames herself, really.

Dad leads her up to the altar, and she kisses his cheek in thanks (she feels like whispering _don't let me do this_ in his ear, doesn't dare). She turns then, and she grins up at the boy before her – he grins too, his red hair flopping over his eyes and covering the scars where his other ear should be. He takes her hands, and a chill runs through her entire body – she says it's because she's marrying him, the man of her dreams (and the man of her nightmares), but inside there's so much more than that.

Because this is _George_, and she loves him, but he doesn't have that same crazed smile, those same eyes that once looked at her like she was made of glitter and honey, that same mouth that whispered in her ear as they twirled at the Yule Ball, words like _you look fat in that dress_ and _I love you_. His eyes have looked at different girls, whispered different words at different times to them. (But not to her.)

When they're married and they escape the church (escape is the only word that fits, because it's the birthplace of _her and him_), the first thing she sees is the meadow of flowers down there, blossoming and blooming beautifully under the springtime sun's glare, and as little Teddy, Dominique, and Victoire rush to roll down the hill in their pretty white clothes, Angelina bursts into tears.


	5. i love you 5

**and i could count five times**  
>hannahzacharias<p>

off the top of my head  
>when i sucked it in 'cause you were hanging with him.<br>and i truly believe that this love could be.  
>~"I Love You 5," Never Shout Never<p>

She's standing there, chocolate eyes widened in ever-present terror and glittered scars raining down her cheekbones. She looks so small, so miniscule, like he could lift his shoe and crush her beneath in one step – and he'd do it too, because that's what he does to small people, weak people.

It's her smallness that makes her looks so _young_ and yet so _old_, having seen more than her fair share of destruction in a few months' worth of time. She's not the kind of girl he goes for, quiet and mousy, ensnared in a web of her own thoughts and fears – she's too much of a goody-two-shoes, too much of a little girl.

But then she's moving, and her lips are melding so perfectly with his, her small body fitting into the crevices of his own, and there's something in her cold kiss and tentative touch that throws him out of whack. She doesn't smile, doesn't even try, but he's Zacharias Smith, and he's never done happy, even when there was something real to smile about.

She leaves popping sensations on his tongue, the kind that leave his thirst quenched and yet starving, and he traces her face with his fingertips, feeling the electric pulsations in her veins as the blood pumps hot into her cheeks and her lids close over her eyes in defeat. It's not love, what he feels for her, and it's mainly because he needs to remind himself of those sideways smiles she always shares with Longbottom.

She could find a better life with Longbottom, he knows, even throughout this whole mess – he could give her children and a roof over her head and tender kisses to her lips. Zacharias is no family man, and he's not about to sacrifice that for her.

Because it's not love, he tells himself. It's not anything but feverish looks and peppered kisses and distractions from hell.


	6. california

**just so you know**  
>lilyteddy<p>

i'm never coming home.  
>i'm having a great day<br>in califor-ni-a.  
>~"California," Never Shout Never<p>

She leaves with his taste on her tongue and ten Galleons in her pocket.

Nobody's really surprised because it's such a _Lily_ thing to do, run away from everything in her bare feet and with her hair flying behind her in the wind. She did it multiple times in her childhood, when her mum wouldn't let her have a slice of cake before supper or when James stole her favorite toy and broke it. And nobody's really concerned, because she's always been able to find her way back.

But this time she's nineteen and she has a purpose – a purpose he's not entirely sure of, other than to get away from him.

He's the last one to see her, and it's like he knows what she's about to do because he shuts the door tight behind him and kisses her square on the mouth, letting her melt into him. He runs his hands through the fire-red silk of her hair, touches her freckles, each and every one, lightly with his fingertips, wraps his arms around her and holds her against his chest like he's terrified to let go.

(Which, in truth, he is.)

But she gives him that sad smirk and presses her lips to his ear; she whispers "Don't get too attached," before slipping through his grip like grains of sand through his fingers. He sits up, watching her from the bed, his eyes a bright green to match hers (but they'll never duplicate what she's masking beneath).

"Don't go, kiddo." he says, and it sounds like a plea. Her smirk just gets a little bigger, and her eyes a little duller.

"Can't, Teddy," she says, drifting to the bedroom door, her silver-and-green nails touching the wood of the doorframe, as if memorizing the place. "I don't do commitment. You should know that." And then she's gone, and he doesn't try to get her back.

She disappears the next day, without a trace, and the only one worrying really is Ginny and Harry's just saying "She'll be back; she always is," and it makes Teddy want to scream, because he knows it's not because she's not getting her way – it's because it's too painful to fight for it.

When the owl flies through the open window at breakfast, with a weatherworn letter strapped to its leg, it's only a minor shock that it's from her.

It's a short letter, and the spiky handwriting is hard to decipher, but he's had enough practice so Harry hands it over and he reads it aloud. It's not very long, the letter, because Lily's always been impatient, to put it lightly. Just explaining how she's doing, how great the countryside is; how Charlie is and how big Bess is doing in her last years – of course she's in Romania, because that's the trendy thing to do when you run away from home nowadays – run away to the dragons.

He skips the part about him, thanking him and cursing him and telling him how a great, rotten friend he's been, and then folds up the letter to put in his pocket.

"Well, at least Charlie won't be so lonesome." Ginny struggles to say, her hand in Harry's.

"That stupid bitch." James mutters with a shake of his head, and Teddy slips out in the ensuing fight, casting a wink to Albus before Apparating out of there.

He sends her a reply, and it's mostly filled with angry words and playful threats. He apologizes and begs and after it's written he sighs, rolls it up, straps it onto his owl's leg, and goes into the kitchen for a shot of Firewhiskey.

The owl clambers through his bedroom window a week and a half later, and the words on the note are a blow, but not unexpected.

_I'm not coming home_.

He doesn't tell the Potters that one.


	7. what is love?

**in a sitch like this you gotta think,**  
>audreypercy<p>

and i don't think you think about the way she thinks.  
>and i know you work hard every day,<br>but it all comes down to the way you're paid.  
>~"What Is Love?," Never Shout Never<p>

They weren't ever going to be a fairytale ending.

Because Percy Weasley's sinfully talented at messing up good things, and Audrey is the most perfect of things, in the way that she smiles with painted red lips at him and her green eyes dance and shimmer when they catch the light. Her chestnut hair that falls in sweeping elegance down her back entices him, and everything about her just screams _unattainable_ because he's bespectacled and ginger-haired and lanky and too _Percy_.

When they begin it's all sweaty palms wringing and glasses fogging up, but then they start to meld into each other, and she becomes more than the attractive waitress in that Muggle pub with the belly shirt and too-short skirt – she becomes _Audrey_ with the tinkling laugh and the world-weary grins.

He really wants to love her, and that's what scares him most – he doesn't do this little thing called _commitment_ unless it involves papers and deadlines and phone calls and business trips. It can't involve sweet kisses and interlinking fingers and baby girls and visiting the family at Christmas. He tries, you see, tries _really bloody hard_ – he names their first after his mum like he cares, lets her do the same with their second, takes Audrey out to fancy restaurants with his paycheck, buys Molly all the books she could ever read and Lucy all the toys she could ever break.

But he's not a family man, even if he wants to be, and if he knows this whole thing will erupt in his face sooner or later – because Molly has Audrey's eyes and Lucy has her spunk, and Audrey keeps looking at him with so much love and it's literally eating him alive, the perfection of it all, because he knows he's going to mess it up.

And no one's really surprised when the divorce papers are lain on the table one rainy day in October.

They're just surprised it took so long.

And he is too.


	8. the past

**a/n: I'm not so sure of this one - I don't like it much :P**

**and i sing songs about the past,**  
>lucyscorpius<p>

how i was raised and i was thrown out on my ass,  
>'cause i didn't care<br>about going to school.  
>~"The Past," Never Shout Never<p>

And this was supposed to be Lily's thing, dropping out and smoking cigarettes and forgetting everyone. It was always meant to be Lily Luna Potter who would feel the pressures and who would run away, who would just sling a bag over her shoulder and hold the finger to her old life.

But instead it's Lucy, and there's really not much shock in that either.

Because while Lily's the one shying away from the family, Lucy's the rebel without a cause, breaking and exploding and sparking – she's the firework gone off too soon, with the parents that try to put out the fire before its flames really start to grow, and this is the kind of suffocation she can't handle.

So it's her who packs her things and goes away, because of this little thing growing in her stomach that belongs to a boy she could care less about.

She ends up on his doorstep, and he drags her inside from the cold under the radar of his parents, who would promptly kick them both out if they knew. He takes her to his bedroom and covers her up with warm blankets and demands the house elves fetch her some hot tea, all the while never letting go of her hand.

And she's always been a ball of energy, has Lucy, the girl with the razor-blade tongue and colorful hair and less-than-admirable grades, that it feels like the apocalypse as she starts to break down in his arms, crying and crying and clutching her stomach.

And it's all his fault he knows, the fling, not the boyfriend – the one-night stand for fun, not the boy she wants to marry – the tarnished, charcoal-black soul, not the effervescent dreamer boy. All Scorpius Malfoy is good for is corruption, and he's tainted this angel who's just been kicked out of heaven because of him, and he knows he's going to Hell after this earthly nightmare is over.


	9. trouble

**a/n: The next three songs, including this one, are from Never Shout Never's EP, _Me & My Uke_ instead of his album _What Is Love?_ And it's one of my favorite songs by him, with one of my new favorite pairings, so it was fun to write! :D**

**i'm in trouble.**  
>gabrielledennis<p>

i'm an addict,  
>i'm addicted to this girl.<br>she's got my heart tied in a knot,  
>and my stomach in a whirl.<br>~"Trouble," Never Shout Never

Gabrielle Delacour is no second choice.

She is one for "the bigger, the better" policy, and trusts it with her life. She settles for nothing less than extraordinary – always new and never old, always gold and never silver. Because she is a Delacour, and Delacours deserve only the finest.

But then she's thrust into this new world of Scotland, with the ugly castle on a hill and frumpy students lining the halls – nothing like Beauxbatons, located in the beautiful French countryside with white horses grazing on the campus and tiger lilies growing in the garden.

The only thing about this place she likes, really, is him – and he's a little old for her and certainly nothing fantastic, but he's got this crooked smile on when he sees her marching behind her sister and she almost wants to smile back.

And it kind of scares her, honestly, because she only gets the best, and Dennis Creevey is certainly no French gentleman – he's short and bespectacled and tan-skinned, not to mention _Muggle-born_ (which is as ordinary as you can possibly get) – but it's the way he stammers in her presence and laughs at her accent that draws her to him, this horribly ordinary boy.

When they're older and supposedly wiser, she goes off to tame the dragons, but he travels to Africa with a sketchpad and Polaroid to observe the zebras, which isn't ordinary, just _weird_.

"I know you think dragons are cool and amazing," he tells her one night as he's packing up his things with her eyes boring into his back menacingly, "which I can't argue they're not, but zebras are just as cool and amazing."

"'Ow?" she demands, hands on hips. "Ze are stinky and 'orsey and are zo _teeny_." She's not really appreciative of the chuckle he gives her, but she can't give her input before he's rambling again.

"I know you're always big and bright, Gabbie," he tells her, "but I love zebras, even if ze are zo _teeny_."

"I do not talk like zat." she curtly replies, crossing her arms, but then he's laughing and trying to kiss her so she lets him, and soon enough all things zebra and dragon-related are forgotten in their laughter.

And he's certainly no celebrity heartthrob in the slightest, but she thinks it may be alright to be a little ordinary once in awhile.

(But she's still expecting that diamond-and-pearl necklace for Christmas.)


	10. your biggest fan

**and i know everything you do**  
>colin<p>

is all about your perfect image.  
>well, i hope this song,<br>it helps your image.  
>~"Your Biggest Fan," Never Shout Never<p>

He never gives up.

It's kind of pathetic, really, how he slings the camera around his neck and photographs Harry when he's not looking, so he can have a new addition to his scrapbook – how he feeds off the attention, no matter how little it is – how he would die for a boy, his idol, whom he barely even knows.

It's going to be his downfall – they all know it, and somewhere deep inside he knows it too, because Harry Potter is his cornerstone, the thing that keeps him alive each day and hoping for something better, because if a tiny infant can defeat the world's most powerful Dark wizard, maybe short, baby-faced Colin Creevey can be something more than just short, baby-faced Colin Creevey, the boy in the shadows.

But in the end it's the person who helps him most in life that leads to his death – it's a worthy death, people say, to have died for humanity at such a young age. But it's not a worthy death, it's a _sad_ death, because he died for someone who never cared to talk to him, to acknowledge his existence.

Dennis wonders if Colin knows that, or if he's up on some cloud, smiling and saying _I saved Harry Potter._

He's pretty sure he doesn't.


	11. did it hurt

**a/n: Close to the deadline, I have finished the challenge! It was fun to do, even if I had to buckle down at times to finish. And to end it all, what better way than to make the final drabble one about my OTP? I hope you enjoy, and thank you! Reviews are greatly appreciated.**

**did it hurt when you fell from heaven?**  
>nevillepansy<p>

did it hurt just to know  
>i was right here waiting?<br>did you know? do you know  
>it was love from the first time we touched?<br>~"Did It Hurt," Never Shout Never

It's pretty obvious that Neville Longbottom is no romantic – he's not dashing like Cedric Diggory, famous like Harry Potter, rich like Draco Malfoy. He's chubby-faced and awkward, built of all nail-biting, cheek-chewing nervousness. To him, girls are menaces, not pleasures.

And it's pretty obvious that if Neville Longbottom ever were to catch the heart of a girl and share his with her, Pansy Parkinson would be the least likely candidate, with her pug face and nasty cropped black hair and pureblood supremacy.

But it's pretty obvious that neither of them are getting their fairytale elsewhere, so why is it so bad to have a little fun _experiment_?

It starts at the Yule Ball, as just a good way to pass the time because his date is ogling Harry from the punch bowl and hers could care less how she tailored her dress so short because little Astoria Greengrass is the forbidden fruit he has his eye on. She takes his hand and leads him outside, and okay, so she's kind of drunk right now, but neither can deny how these fire-hot kisses and ice-cold touches make them feel.

It ends in something like heartbreak, but not quite it, because he's always liked the simple elegance of Hannah Abbott and she's no fairytale princess with long blonde hair and Bambi brown eyes – just another soul affected by Voldemort's loss, just another person looked down on because of her parents' loyalties.

They try not to think about it, because when you dwell on things – like people – it can backfire and innocent thoughts can lead to secret meetings and treachery. He's always been destined for the life of a family man, with a beautiful daughter and a beautiful wife and a beautiful home and a beautiful job, and if Pansy is anything that matters, _beautiful_ isn't it.

But he still remembers that night in full clarity, how she tugged at his collar and gave him that wild stare with her dull green eyes and kissed him like they could mean something – like their names were sugar and honey together, when really they were water and vinegar. And she remembers thinking, for a Gryffindor, a blood traitor, a _Longbottom_, how good a kisser he is.

It wasn't love at first sight; it was at first touch, and they always say don't take a bite of the apple, because then the taste is always on your tongue.


End file.
